


Impulses

by sobering_stairs



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobering_stairs/pseuds/sobering_stairs
Summary: Eve thinks about her life and decides to do something impulsive— or, Eve realizes that Villanelle is her life and follows Dasha home after bowling in order to see Villanelle.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 128





	Impulses

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Villaneve fanfic, so I hope you enjoy! I apologize for any mistakes, I stared at it for too long and the words lost all meaning.

Eve has always been told she is impulsive. She gets an idea in her head and she acts on it, not taking the time to weigh the pros and cons or to think about the outcomes. Some say it is foolish, acting before thinking, especially since her actions affect people other than herself. Others say she is brave for listening to her gut, even though she has made a habit of getting people killed by following her instincts. She is brilliant, something even her greatest critics will admit, but even she has never been able to decide who is right: those against her impulsiveness or those all for it. Now, as she clutches her throbbing head and pushes herself up off of the floor, struggling to maintain standing on the moving bus, she comes to the conclusion that no amount of future brilliance will be able to make up for the idiocy of attacking, kissing, and headbutting an assassin on public transportation. Especially if the assassin is tall and irritating and beautiful and charming and strong and terrifying and funny and rude, all of which Villanelle is. _I fucking hate her._ Eve lowers herself onto the seat she had leaped from just minutes earlier, her mind clouded with the smell of the blonde’s perfume and the feel of her soft lips. _I fucking hate her._ She sighs, her thoughts foggy with their untruth. 

***

Her birthday is coming to an end, but the same question she has been plagued with since this morning continues to rattle around in her mind: _Why did I have to throw the cake?_ It had seemed like a good idea at the time, most of her impulsive ones do, but now the image of the perfect red frosting splattered on the asphalt is making her toss and turn. Eve stares ahead, her eyes already fully adjusted to the room’s cloud of darkness, pretending to be fascinated by the faint pen mark on the bedpost so she is not forced to face the thoughts she does not want to acknowledge. She leans forward, gently tracing her thumb over the faded blue ink, and she feels a sense of calm wash over her. _This is what I did to the heart._ Eve lets out a sigh, allowing herself to remember the way she had stroked the small device as if coaxing Villanelle’s voice out of it. She shakes her head, not wanting to think about that, and flops back down onto the pillow, forcing herself to think of something else. 

_I wonder what Kenny would have done tonight. Would he have stayed up late talking to a friend like I did? Would he have gone out for dinner with his mom? Would he have caught up on work before going to bed? Would he have stayed up thinking, too?_ Eve feels a twinge of regret in her chest at using her dead friend to distract her from the woman that could have killed him, but the feeling is gone before she can try to rationalize what she is doing. Deep down she knows it is horrible, that she is horrible, but she cannot bring herself to care. _It’s working, isn’t it?_ She shifts slightly, feeling cramped on the bed clearly designed for a child, and thinks back to the bed she laid on all those months ago in a frustratingly stylish Parisian apartment. _Well, it_ **_was_ ** _working._ Eve groans, rubbing the pads of her fingers over her closed eyes, before muttering, “fuck it,” and giving in. _What would have happened if I hadn’t been so impulsive? Would she have kissed me? She definitely would have. Would I have kissed her back?_ Eve likes to think that she would not have, but that is just wishful thinking. She knew what to expect when relaxing on that criminally comfortable mattress in the first place. Part of her had even craved it. But that is not what happened, so there is no point dwelling on it. _Besides, I can’t exactly be proud of myself for not kissing her then after kissing her on a bus. A_ **_bus_** _, of all places._ Eve rolls over again, this time facing the rest of the bedroom. That is not something she wants to think about right now. 

_Back to Kenny, then. Had he been scared in the moments before his fall? Did he know he was in danger? Had he tried to get away, or had he been taken by surprise? Had he been able to imagine that his skull would smash against the asphalt similarly to how my cake would eventually splatter?_

“Jesus Christ,” Eve chastises herself, squeezing her eyes shut to try and rid her head of the thought. _Did he go up to the roof willingly? Did he know he was going there to die? Had he been killed by someone he trusted?_ Even though she would never admit it, Eve hopes it had been done by someone he trusted. Not so he would not have been scared until it was happening, which is the humane thing to wish, but because Kenny never would have trusted Villanelle. More than anything else, Eve does not want it to have been Villanelle. Because if it was Villanelle, what would that make Eve? _A monster._ The thought lingers, not quite dissipating, and its remnants eventually craft another, more shameful thought: _If it was Villanelle, it wouldn’t change anything. Not for me. Kenny would still be dead, Villanelle would still be a killer, and I would still be the woman who kissed her on a bus. Even though she killed Bill. Even though I knew she could’ve been the one to kill Kenny. If Villanelle was the one who pushed him off the building, I would still think about her. I would still remember the smell of her perfume and the feel of her lips on mine. I would still dream of her face, of her blood on my hands, of her moans in my ear, and that is… unthinkable._ Eve sighs again, flopping over onto her back. _Villanelle can’t have been the one to kill Kenny, because I don’t know how I’ll convince people that it changes anything._

***

When Eve had startled Dasha with the news of Niko’s survival, she thanked the god she is not sure she believes in for helping her not be rash. She had wanted to chuck a bowling ball at the woman’s head and see if beginner’s luck also applied to murder, but she had decided against it. Not only had she not wanted to deal with the fallout of bashing someone’s head in while in a public place, but she had also been reminded that Dasha would not have been her first kill. Now, as Eve follows the Russian from what she deems a safe distance, she appreciates the restraint she had shown once again. She had not been impulsive, and now, Dasha is leading her to Villanelle. Of course, Eve is being impulsive by following her, but nobody is perfect. 

Dasha lights a cigarette while walking, and in the short amount of time it takes her to finish it and carelessly flick it into the street, she reaches her destination. Eve waits, her back pressed against a wall to stay out of sight, until Dasha steps into the house and closes the door behind her. Eve hurries down the street, cautiously eyeing the closed blinds that keep the inside of the house out of view. _What am I doing here? This is a mistake. If I get caught, who knows what Dasha will do. Would Villanelle let her hurt me?_ Before Eve can contemplate that, she hears the door open and she focuses only on keeping her breathing as quiet as possible. She waits until Dasha turns the corner before moving out of the shadows. Not wanting to risk talking herself out of it, Eve lifts her arm and pounds her fist against the door. Four raps, probably louder than necessary, but she can feel her anxiety icily sliding through her veins and she needs to let out her nerves somehow. When there is no answer, Eve knocks again, suddenly nervous for a different reason. _What am I even going to say to her? The last time I saw her, I_ **_kissed_ ** _her. And headbutted her. Surely she’ll be upset? What if she doesn’t want to see me?_ Just as Eve is about to knock one more time, the door swings open, effectively putting an end to Eve’s internal rambling. 

“Enough with the knocking! Did you forget the ke-” Villanelle stops mid-question upon realizing that it is not Dasha she is yelling at. “Eve?” She asks, confusion decorating her features, seemingly frozen in place. 

“Hi,” Eve manages, unsure of what to say. She allows her eyes to take in Villanelle, just for a second, and she cannot help her sharp intake of breath when she sees the bloodied bandage on the other woman’s arm. “Are you okay?” The words fall out of her mouth before she has the good sense to mask her panic, but before she has the chance to regret it, she notices the freshly fallen tears on the woman’s cheeks. The hopeless look in her eye, visible even with the surprise at seeing Eve. The messy strands of hair that, while still beautiful, betray the state Villanelle is currently in. “Can I come in?” Eve asks, softer this time, pushing aside her curiosity and allowing her instincts to protect the younger woman to kick in. Villanelle considers this for a moment, reaching up to wipe away her tears as she does, before agreeing. 

“Come in,” she says, voice strangely empty. _She is trying to hide something._ The two stand in the entranceway for a few moments, both unsure of what to do. Eve takes this time to study the woman in front of her. _Is she crying because of her arm? She didn’t cry when I stabbed her, and that must have hurt far more than whatever happened this time around. No, it can’t be that. Then what? There’s no way she knew I was coming, it’s not like she would have cried beforehand to manipulate me. No, she would definitely not do that. Even if she had known._ While Eve had been thinking this over, something in Villanelle had completely shifted. 

“Wow Eve, showing up at my house late at night? That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” Her voice is smoother now, suggestive, and her lips are curved upwards in a smirk. If Eve were anyone else, she would buy this performance. She would see Villanelle’s cocky stance, scoff at how the blonde leans back, hands clasped in front of her. She would roll her eyes at Villanelle’s raised eyebrow, maybe even blush at its implications. But Eve is not anyone else. Eve notices the way the woman’s shoulders are slightly slumped and the faint gloss over her eyes. Eve notices the way Villanelle’s nails are digging angry red crescents into her hands and the hardly-there tremor in her voice. 

“Are you okay?” Eve repeats, careful to keep her voice level and soft, not wanting to make matters worse. 

“Of course I am okay. I have been stabbed before, don’t you remember?” If Eve were anyone else, she would fall for the snarky remark and forget any suspicions she has about Villanelle’s state of mind. 

Instead, Eve lets out a sympathetic sigh and asks, “What happened?” Villanelle visibly tenses at that. “To your arm,” Eve adds, and the blonde relaxes once more.

“I already told you: I was stabbed. Not a big deal,” she shrugs, eyes opening widely for a fraction of a second at the pain the sudden motion clearly causes her. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Eve tries to be gentle with her, but patience has never been her strong suit. “Did a job go wrong?” Eve asks, knowing she made a mistake right after the words leave her mouth.

“My jobs do not go wrong,” Villanelle sets the record straight, voice clear and sharp. If Eve were anyone else, she would flinch at the words spoken in the woman’s Russian accent, words that bring Villanelle’s occupation, cold-blooded killer, to light. 

But Eve is impulsive, _so fucking impulsive,_ so rather than an apology, her next words are, “You couldn’t kill _me_ .” She has already said it, there is no taking it back. Eve would give anything to be able to take it back. _They were right all along, my impulsiveness is a curse._

“Why did you kiss me?” That is not what Eve thought she was going to say, and Villanelle knows it. _I made her uncomfortable, of course she had to do the same to me. Of course she did._

“I don’t know,” Eve replies nearly immediately, and she hates how unsure she sounds. She hates how she barely gets through the three words without her voice trembling. 

“Did you come here to kiss me again?” Eve takes her time answering this question, mostly because she has no idea why she came here. Surely that is not the reason she followed Dasha home, but then what is? What does she plan on accomplishing here?

“I don’t know,” Eve repeats, and this time her voice is steady. She is telling the truth, meaning she was not when she answered the last question, meaning… _What does this mean?_ Villanelle smiles at that and Eve’s heart begins to beat faster in her chest. _What does this mean?_

“I think you did,” Villanelle says, matter-of-factly, and Eve cannot help but be relieved that the blonde seems to have forgotten her pain, if only for a little while. 

“Oh really? And why is that?” Eve plays along, grateful that the tension in the room has changed from uncomfortable to… something else. When Villanelle looks at her as if she is trying to decide something before answering, Eve knows she is not prepared for what will come next. 

After several seconds of contemplating what to say, Villanelle settles on, “Oh.” _That’s not quite as eloquent as I thought it would be._

“Oh?” Eve parrots, feeling as though she is trying to piece together a puzzle without the picture for reference. 

“You love me.” Three words that Villanelle has said to her before, albeit the circumstances were much different then. _I’m not walking away this time._ “You love me,” she repeats, clearer now, without a trace of arrogance. When Eve looks into her eyes, she sees the blonde’s vulnerability. There is something there, something right in front of her that she is missing, and without it, Eve knows she will not be able to put together the puzzle. She pushes the thought away, vowing to deal with it later; Villanelle has been staring at her expectantly for a few moments and, although she knows it really should not, it pains Eve to leave the woman hanging.

“I don’t know,” Eve whispers, and that is the truth. She has never felt this way before, not even with Niko, so how could she possibly be able to identify it? Villanelle does not respond to that, and Eve feels a bit of the uncomfortable tension returning. “You’re not going to shoot me again, are you?” She jokes, shifting her weight from foot to foot. 

“Of course not,” Villanelle chuckles softly. When Eve looks closely, she can see the tears resurfacing in the woman’s eyes.

“It’s complicated,” Eve tries to explain. It is complicated, that is the truth. She has a thousand different thoughts right now, all shouting at her to say something different. That is complicated. _This needs to be complicated. Doesn’t it?_ When Villanelle does not respond, Eve offers, “You blew up my life.”

“Yes,” she admits, as if she had been asked a simple question and not been told something with as much magnitude as that.

“You killed my best friend.”

“Yes.”

“You ruined my marriage.”

“Well that wasn’t _all_ me,” Villanelle cannot keep herself from replying to that one.

“No, it wasn’t,” Eve admits, drawing a smile out of Villanelle. “You killed Kenny?” This time Eve is not stating something, she is asking it, and the desperation in her voice is clear.

“The nerd is dead?” Eve cannot stop the laughter that bubbles up inside of her and spills out, nor does she want to stop it. She is relieved, for one. She needed for Villanelle not to have killed him, and she did not. Beyond that, it is refreshing to talk to someone who will not tiptoe around the fact that her friend was murdered. Her life has been one tragedy after another ever since she was recruited by Carolyn in the first place, causing the people closest to Eve to treat her like she is made of glass. _Villanelle treats me like a person._

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“Of course it is a ‘no’! Eve, I would not do that to you again,” Villanelle insists, and her voice is earnest. _She’s telling the truth._

“I know you wouldn’t,” Eve assures her, and she means it. She pauses for a few seconds, feeling a bit strange mentioning the other reasons that make this situation complicated after sharing such a sweet moment. 

Villanelle seems to understand that as she tells Eve, “You can keep going, I can take it. I am strong.” _Yes, you are._ Eve almost refuses but she knows she needs to say it. 

She continues, “You shot me.”

“Yes.” This time, her regret is evident.

“You manipulated me into killing Raymond.”  
  


Villanelle sighs, “Yes.” A pause. “He deserved it, though.”  
  


“Yes, he did. But I didn’t.”

Villanelle considers this for a second. “No, you didn’t.” Another second. “I ruined your life.”

“Yes, you did.”

Villanelle thinks this over, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration, before looking at Eve. “You love me anyway.”

  
  
“Yes,” Eve concedes, feeling a sense of peace, “I do.” 

***

“I want to tell you what happened now,” Villanelle’s low voice barely breaks the silence. The pair had been sitting on Eve’s bed simply listening to the rain until now. Two days have passed since Eve found Villanelle and they have not yet spoken about the cause of Villanelle’s breakdown. Eve looks over at her before adding,

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“I went to see my family. Konstantin told me where they were and I went to see them. In Russia. I thought they were all dead until then, but it turns out that was a lie. My mother and my brother were still alive, and a bunch of new people, too.” _Were alive. This can’t be good._ “My mother had a new husband and son. The son loves Elton John so I gave him money to go see him.”

“That was very kind of you, Villanelle.”

“Yes, it was,” she agrees, nodding slightly. She swiftly wipes away a stray tear before continuing, “There were two others: her husband’s son and his girlfriend. They were quite stupid.” Eve smiles at that. “I made sure my brothers were not inside the house before setting it on fire.” Eve stops smiling. 

“Why did you do that?” She asks, careful to keep any judgment out of her voice. 

“I needed to kill Mama,” Villanelle replies, looking down. “She was cruel. Evil. Heartless. Like me.” Before Eve can open her mouth to tell Villanelle she is not any of those things, the blonde continues, “She emotionally abused me during my childhood. Nothing I did was ever good enough. She hated me because she thought I stole my father. Then she left me at an orphanage when I was eight... I burned that down, too.” She adds the last sentence like it is an afterthought, like she needs to get everything off of her chest but does not want to scare Eve away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eve assures her, squeezing the other woman’s hands with her own.

“I wasn’t going to kill her. I swear I wasn’t.” Her eyes widen with sincerity, and Eve smiles warmly to show Villanelle she knows she is telling the truth. “But then I was talking to my little brother, he’s the one who loves Elton John, and he told me how she abuses him, too. She was doing it _again._ She hadn’t changed. I know I’ve done a lot of things, but I would never hurt my _child_. Not like she hurt him. Or me. She needed to die.” 

“I understand.” Eve surprises even herself by saying that because matricide is not something she should understand. She loves her mother, always has. She would never harm her. _Villanelle’s mother was different. She deserved it._ “I am sorry that happened to you. All of it.” Villanelle sniffles and nods, wiping away her tears. “You are not alone, Villanelle.” The blonde nods again. Eve reaches forward to wipe the blonde’s tears before realizing what she is doing. “May I?” She asks, earning a nearly shy smile in response. Villanelle remains quiet during this, waiting for Eve to pull away before saying,

“You know Eve, I’m good at a lot of things, but asking for what I want is not one of them.”

“Bullshit!” Eve exclaims, unable to stop herself. “You broke into my house and pushed me into a bathtub the first time we met just so you could ask me out!” Villanelle laughs at that, a real laugh, and Eve cannot help but join in. The sound is infectious and makes her feel warm inside. _She’s beautiful._ When the laughter dies down, Villanelle sighs,

“This is different.” _Vulnerable._

“Take your time.”

Finally, she asks her, “Do you think you could touch me?” Eve understands, of course she understands. She moves towards the younger woman and wraps her arms around her. Villanelle immediately hugs her back as if her life depends on it and Eve recognizes that she is crying again when she feels her slight frame begin to shake in her arms. She simply holds onto her tighter, gently rubbing circles on Villanelle’s back to soothe her. The tears stop not long after, but the pair refuses to let go of one another. _I could stay like this, leaning forward on this uncomfortable bed, stretching my neck in an awkward way, forever._

“Thank you for the hug, Eve,” she murmurs into Eve’s hair, “I was actually talking about my tits, but this kind of touching is nice, too.” 

“You asshole,” Eve chuckles, pulling the younger woman impossibly closer. When she finally pulls away to give Villanelle a soft kiss, the puzzle pieces fit together at last, creating the most beautiful picture. When she looks into Villanelle’s eyes, Eve sees Oksana staring back at her. _I guess being impulsive pays off after all._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Now on a more serious note- we are living in a scary time right now and I know it isn't easy. I want you to know that I am proud of you for simply staying alive. We are all going to get through this together! You are not alone. If you ever need to talk, feel free to dm me on twitter (@sobering_stairs). I am here for you, always. 
> 
> Please take a moment to sign this petition: https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/justice-george-floyd-0. Make sure to confirm your signature by checking your email afterward (it may take a few minutes to send). This is more important than any fanfic ever could be. There are many other petitions like it, please sign and share as many as you can. Donate if you can. This is not the time to remain silent, this is the time to show your support. If you are not black, make sure not to speak over black voices. Instead, find out how you can help without overstepping. This is everyone's battle to fight, but please do not forget who is most affected by this. LISTEN TO YOUR BLACK FRIENDS. Stand up to your racist family. #BLACKLIVESMATTER


End file.
